Monday, March 27, 2006

I haven't spoken about my biological father much on this blog. He was, and still is, a complex, troubled man. He was the youngest child of a very wealthy couple in South Western Virginia, who he found out later was really his aunt and uncle who adopted him. He went to Vietnam, and came back twisted. He has been an abuser, and is a cross dresser. He disappeared when I was 11 years old, and I found him at age 28. I've seen him once in that time. I speak about him now because his birthday is coming up this week, and I doubt I'll call him. The reason I wanted to write about him is to thank him.

Starting at about 9 years old, he started making me call people for him for information. He would listen to my speaking voice and correct my grammar, enunciation, and timing. He told me he did it because I was so shy I couldn't look someone in the face, much less talk to them clearly. He would make me call and order pizza. I would be the one he made to call about movie times (at a time you talked to a human being for such information). After the call it was nag nag nag if I spoke too fast, or stuttered. Sometimes I would cry it was so bad. He was known for his persuasive use of language, i.e, he could sell swampland in Florida. He told me he didn't want to be ashamed of me. Now, all these years later, I am known for being fairly articulate. I was a telephone operator, and don't mind public speaking. If I had to pick one trait I'm proud of, its my speaking. Thanks Dad